


stalwart

by Nebbles



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, frederick really did love emmeryn and that's important to me, mentions of nonbinary robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: Frederick's always been a guarded man, yet there's always been one exception in his life to challenge such rigidity.Memories of his relationship with Emmeryn come to mind when her life comes to an end on that fateful day in the dry deserts of Plegia.
Relationships: Chrom & Frederick (Fire Emblem), Emerina | Emmeryn/Frederick
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	stalwart

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my lovely friend Otto, who infected my mind with lovely brainworms with these two. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

Frederick is fourteen when he first spots Emmeryn crying in the throne room.   
  


The sobs aren’t loud, barely audible gasps in the warm spring air that filters through the open windows. There’s an air of grace that surrounds her, as if she’s unwilling to forego appearances even if there isn’t a soul to see a moment of weakness.  
  


Quietly, he closes the door behind him, and goes to take his hand in her own. It feels fragile in his own, and it strengthens his resolve to protect the one it belongs to.   
  


“What troubles you, milady?” He asks quietly as he kneels in front of the throne. Concern laces his tone, soft as ever. “If you wish to speak plainly to me, you may.”  
  


She gives a slow shake of the head, “it is nothing new, Frederick. The scars my father left behind run deep in Ylisse.”  
  


Frederick may be young, but he is no fool. His eyes drift to her shoulder, and how she’s worn thicker fabrics as of late despite the weather. “Have they attempted to throw stones once more?”  
  


Silently, Emmeryn’s lip wavers as fresh tears roll down her cheeks.   
  


“Forgive me. I should be protecting you better.” Blind, the people must be, to look at the face of a fourteen year old girl and see one of a tyrant. “I should bear your scars.”  
  


“You’re taking care of Chrom and Lissa. They’re still children,” she murmurs, “and I cannot afford to worry them the way I worry you.”   
  


“I can’t leave you unattended as well. Not when you’re hurting.” Frederick knows he’s tired, more ragged than one his age should be. “Don’t worry about me.”  
  


Delicately, she lifts a hand to wipe at her eyes. “I fear I haven’t seen you rest since I became the Exalt.”  
  


“Is that so?” Frederick quirks a brow. “Surely I have slept at some point in the last four years.”  
  


Her laugh is faint; it tickles his senses like the ocean breeze, warms him as if there are no walls or ceilings to deflect the sun. It’s here where he realizes what he feels for Emmeryn is hardly proper for his station.   
  


Frederick locks the feelings away in his heart, strengthens his resolve to remain stalwart in serving the royal family. It is not his place to love Emmeryn. Her happiness is above his own, and it is hardly appropriate to be selfish and wish to revel in it.   
  


Frederick’s place to serve House Ylisse, and nothing more.  
  


* * *

  
Frederick is eighteen when Ylisstol holds a grand ball, one that serves as an excuse for suitors to attempt to win Emmeryn’s hand. Marrying the Exalt brings in money and security, he’s heard them whisper over glasses of wine, and it helps that she's easy on the eyes.  
  


Dutiful as ever, he’s made sure none of them come within several yards of Emmeryn. She seems to be aware of his actions, and graces him with a familiar smile as she continues to dazzle the ball with each step.  
  


For what it’s worth, the grand hall is decorated in an ornate manner, and he’s (somehow) managed to convince Chrom and Lissa to keep their “boring, stuffy” outfits on and in one piece. It’s a combined effort between him and Emmeryn to ensure they aren’t covered in stains of unknown origin by the end of the night.   
  


“Since when did Chrom obtain the habit of trying to tear the sleeves off his clothing?” Emmeryn whispers over the faint strings of music. “What has been happening when I am occupied with my work?”   
  


A soft chuckle. “He is young, Emmeryn. Perhaps this is a phase of his.”  
  


“And how did you get him to acquiesce?” She smiles at him, and it’s the one Frederick knows that is for him and no one else.  
  


“I promised I would spend the day training with him.” He matches the tender expression. “You may not see me tomorrow until he is ready to be put to bed.”  
  


“Such a tragedy.” Emmeryn’s fingers dust against his shoulder. “I suppose I should spirit you away tonight, if that’s the case.”  
  


A curious expression greets her, and a delicate hand wraps around his own. “May I ask for this dance, Frederick?”  
  


“Surely you must realize it is improper for a liege to dance with her knight.” Frederick feels his throat dry, and has to clear it before he speaks once more. “I would not wish to tarnish your reputation.”  
  


It’s her turn to return the raised brow, although it’s not without a smile. “One dance will not condemn me. Surely you can abandon your title of Frederick the Wary for the night.”  
  


The faint pink on his cheeks must be apparent, as Emmeryn’s expression grows more fond. “I suppose I cannot refuse your request, if it is that important to you.”

  
In the candlelight that glows throughout the room, Emmeryn’s eyes shine like the sun, and Frederick finds himself speechless as he is taken to the dance floor. An unseen force guides his hand as it rests upon the small of her back. The hand that is not wound in his own places itself on his shoulder; the tips of her fingers brush against his neck as they settle.

  
“Have you ever danced before?” Her voice harmonizes with the ebb and flow of the music as they sway. 

  
Somehow, he’s able to find his voice. “I have not. I apologize if I step on your feet.”

  
Her laughter rings like bells, pure and clear. “I assure you I have faced worse.”

  
Are eyes on them as they dance? Have they managed to captivate an audience, as Frederick is the one to hold such an honor? If such is the case, he does not notice. Emmeryn’s smile is what matters, and there lies a part of him that is tempted to feel it against his own.

  
He finds himself lost in her. The strings melt into the background. They are not Exalt and retainer, lady and liege. They are simply Emmeryn and Frederick, two souls who are glad to leave the world behind for just a moment.

  
Almost, he draws her in closer. Their fingers lace together, and Frederick swears an endless blue expanse lies within her eyes.

  
Sudden applause breaks their reverie, as the band draws the song to a close. With a straightened posture, practiced along a clearing of his throat, Frederick is able to draw his arms behind his back. “I hope that was to your liking.” 

  
Emmeryn holds her hand out once more with a smile that errs on the side of playful. “I still believe you are in need of a break. May you come with me?” 

  
“Are you not concerned for Chrom and Lissa?” He doesn’t reach a hand out. Not yet. “Surely we cannot leave them for long.”

  
“There are other attendants keeping an eye on them. I just wish to get some fresh air, Frederick.” They’ve been indoors all night, after all. “And I am sure you would hate to leave me unattended.”

  
Frederick damns himself for the way his heart flutters in his chest, and wills down the butterflies flitting about as he takes her hand once again.

  
The courtyard is quiet, the still night air a welcome change from the almost stuffy environment inside the castle. Gentle moonlight paints itself against the ground as it enrobes the trees in a pale silver, leaves glowing. It’s an entirely different world, in some way. As Emmeryn’s fingers lace against his once more, she pauses in her steps as those beautiful eyes look into his once more.

  
“May you dance with me once more?”

  
Frederick balks as his face registers a bright shade of red. He coughs, a poor man’s attempt to hide a fluster. “Should we not go back inside for that?”

  
“I want this moment to be special,” are the words that leave her as she steps closer, “for no other eyes to be on us.”

  
The mysterious force guides his hand around her waist once more. Holding her this way feels natural, he notes, and the world stops as their eyes meet. 

  
“I have always found you rather beautiful,” he speaks without much thought, “and tonight, I fear you have taken my breath away.”

  
Emmeryn’s gaze is lidded, cheeks a warm pink as she looks to Frederick, as if he were a replacement for the night sky. “And I have always found you handsome, my dear.”

  
Frederick realizes _who_ he is speaking to, and attempts to collect himself. “I… forgive me. It is hardly proper to speak to my liege in such a manner--”

  
She brings a finger to his lips, and moves to cup his jaw with her hand. “You may speak to me as plainly as you wish.”

  
“...May I ask for permission to kiss you?” Frederick knows if his mind was clearer, this would’ve been asked in a less bumbling manner. 

  
She laughs regardless, and Frederick drifts a hand through her curls as he leans in to gently press their lips together. The lingering taste of honey cakes defines their kiss, sweet and innocent. 

  
There lies a chance their relationship must remain a secret, to avoid scandal, to protect Emmeryn. For now, those thoughts remain dormant, and he enjoys the way Emmeryn’s lips feel upon his. 

  
They can spirit themselves away for just a moment, and enjoy the warm glow of a first love.  
  


* * *

  
Frederick is twenty-two when he sees the scars upon Emmeryn’s shoulder up close. 

  
His touch is delicate as he draws his finger over faded skin, as if afraid to anger them once more. Her expression remains still, hands placed over his forearms, breath in her throat. With every ounce of prudence, Frederick places his lips to them next, and hears a gentle exhalation that follows his actions.

  
“Are you alright, Emmeryn?” Her name falls so simply from his lips now, happy to taste it upon his tongue. “If I am moving too quickly, let me know.”

  
“I am. I would never lie to you.” The back of her hand brushes against his cheek. “I trust you, Frederick. You know I always have.”

  
“Your well-being is always my greatest concern.” Their eyes meet as he glides a hand down her back. “And I wish to express my love for you in a manner that is worthy of your grace.”

  
Emmeryn smiles at him in a way that alights his very core. “You have always been worthy, my love.”

  
It’s rather easy to get lost in all that she is. Frederick brings their lips together, more tender than before (somehow, such a feat is possible) as he pulls their bodies closer.

  
For tonight, the world includes the pair of lovers and no one else. Each reverent touch is for them alone, to be burned into their memories and bodies with every exchange of love given. Frederick allows himself to be selfish in hoping this night never comes to its end, and he can provide endless care to the woman he’s devoted his heart to.

  
“I love you,” he whispers as their lips part, “I swear to always be at your side.”

  
“And I love you, my dearest Frederick,” gentle hands rest upon his shoulders, “nothing shall keep me from yours.”  
  


* * *

  
Frederick is twenty-five when he watches Emmeryn fall to her death. 

  
The sands of Plegia are scalding as they bury themselves into the crevices of his armor; they cake its pristine shine worse than any rust could have dared. Lissa’s knees buckle as her staff falls to the arid, cracked ground. He’s quick to catch her in his arms, and his heart plummets as a sickening _thud_ echoes throughout the desert.

  
Anger is quick to replace heartache as he glances to Robin, their hazel eyes wide with fear, perhaps regret, perhaps some other emotion Frederick is unable to place. This plan was supposed to work. Their confidence, their tactics, never did they waver as the Fire Emblem remained in the tactician’s clutches. 

  
Was his initial feeling to mistrust correct? Should he have chided Chrom further on bringing a stranger into their ranks? It’s hardly moral to leave someone on the side of the road, yet if they were a Plegian spy, if they were playing the Shepherds for _fools…_

  
As Lissa sobs in his arms, Frederick looks upon them with scorn. 

_  
Traitor._

  
It’s an ugly word that dances upon his mind, and nearly upon his lips as Robin’s apologies melt into thin air.

  
It’s hard to tell what the other members of the army are thinking. Frederick’s mind buzzes like an angry vulture. His anger burns hotter than the desert, winds still and unable to keep the heat at bay.

  
There is no place for emotions on a battlefield. Frederick forces himself to swallow his feelings once more, grip on his lance steady as ever. 

  
He cannot afford to feel. Not when there are others to protect, not when there are pieces to pick up that Robin’s left behind.  
  


* * *

  
The cold of Ferox is welcome, in a way, as the snow continues to drift outside the window and blankets the world in silence. 

  
The journey back is a blur at best. The brittle desert air drowns under heavy rainfall, roars of mighty thunder drowns out the Mad King’s laughter. It’s easy to provide a change of clothes for the army, warm under Feroxi furs as their mud-stained clothes hang to dry in another room of the castle.

  
Most of the army’s gone to rest after further words of condolences to Chrom and Lissa. There’s reassurances whispered to Robin as well, and the less than kind part of Frederick’s mind hisses that they’re undeserved. Their failure came at the price of Emmeryn’s life. It’s selfish to think this way, as if it’s him who is suffering the most. 

  
Quiet, soft crackles of a nearby fireplace accompany his thoughts, the warmth unable to offer further comforts. Moments of silence are not new to him, and usually Frederick finds these reprieves as a time of reflection. How he could better serve the Halidom, what more he can do for Chrom. A part of him worries that Robin is taking his place, how they’re Chrom’s confidant, how he was quick to dismiss his worries and label them as commonplace.

  
His fears are nothing more than a light quip to Chrom, and that tears at his heart further. Their friendship’s been steadfast for years, and it’s insulting to think a stranger garbed in Plegian robes has taken the role. It’s unbecoming of him to damn Robin, and he’s well aware of the way his anger and guilt collide. Insulting the failure of one person will not bring her back, and it will do nothing to honor her memory.

  
Emmeryn would have been so sad to see him scowl so cruelly at another. It’s not the type of man he is. Processing grief is never easy, and navigating its turbulent roads is even less so.

  
He knows he should rest, and that his body should give way to sleep once it hits the mattress. Yet it does not come easy, and his thoughts and regrets cling to his consciousness like an errant snowflake to a windowpane. 

  
Footsteps are heard behind him, and he turns to see Chrom come his way with a tea tray. His expression is one of exhaustion, one he’s worn since the beginning of the war. From the dim light the fireplace offers, Frederick sees that his eyes are rimmed red.

  
“Maribelle offered the tea,” he begins as he sets the tray between them, “she told me if we are to be up at such a late hour, we may as well make apt use of our time. ...Or something like that.” He tries to mimic her inflection with varying success.

  
There’s so many words Frederick wishes to say, and they remain lodged in his throat as he takes a cup of tea. Its smell is comforting, laced with a hint of bergamot. He takes a sip, and murmurs a soft thanks as he remains still in his chair.

  
“Peace, Frederick. I want you to speak plainly with me.” Chrom is dressed in nightwear. There’s no sand or blood caked into his clothing, no mud dragging down his cape. “Will you hear some words from an old friend?”

  
“I’m uncertain you wish to hear my thoughts, milord.” It hurts to speak above a whisper, somehow. “You should be resting.”

  
“I should be saying the same to you,” he replies, “I have not seen you rest since we begin our travels to Ferox.”

  
“We have come back from a… difficult moment,” he chooses to say, “and it is my job to assist you in keeping the army stable.”

  
“Frederick, you’re more to the army than a watchful eye.” He sets his tea down, and places a hand on his shoulder. “I have told you time again that you’re a friend to us. No one would wish to see you in poor form.”

  
“I am not the only one who is unwell.” Were Chrom to hear his thoughts, there’s a chance his kind words would turn sour. “You and Lady Lissa need rest.”

  
He hears Chrom sigh. “Frederick, please be honest with me. Whatever’s on your mind, I’m prepared to hear it.”

  
He’s bit his tongue for months, expression unwavering as Chrom, as everyone’s listened to Robin. For how long as he hidden so many sides of himself from the man he’s sworn fealty to? Secrets have been kept for years, ever since Emmeryn’s lips were first placed against his own. Lying to others feels unbecoming of him, and perhaps it’s finally time to let a few truths slip by.

  
“How can you still love Robin?” It comes out harsher than it should, evident by the sound Chrom makes. “They were supposed to save her.”

  
“Robin is more than their failures, Frederick, just as I’m more than my own.” Chrom drags a finger across the rim of his teacup. “If I were to condemn the members of the Shepherds for their faults, there wouldn’t be an army left.”

  
“Their flaws did not rob Lady Emmeryn of her life.” His tone remains steady. “Robin swore to save her. They were confident in their plan.”

  
“I shouldn’t have let her fall into Gangrel’s hands in the first place,” he sighs, “but I also know blaming myself, Robin, or anyone else isn’t going to help us here.”

  
Before Frederick replies, Chrom offers him an expression that looks almost _hurt._ “I know you still don’t trust Robin at times. I’m not asking you to regard them as a saint, but you can’t talk to them like this. Don’t think I missed those looks of yours.”

  
His jaw hangs slightly agape, eyes widened. Was his distaste truly so evident to others? “I apologize, then. I shall be more conscious of my actions.” 

  
“Emm meant so much to all of us.” Chrom looks back to the fire now. “She raised me and Lissa more than our father ever did. Our people saw her as a beacon of peace, of hope for a happier Ylisse… and I’m going to have to take her place.”

  
“I know you will be a capable ruler, milord.” Frederick turns his gaze to the fire as well. “Your actions shall make her proud, and I will be happy to continue to serve you.”

  
“Would it pain you to refer to me by name?” That’s a rather unexpected question. “I said that you could speak to me plainly.”

  
Frederick recalls when Emmeryn first spoke this phrase to him, and it does nothing more but drive further pain into his heart. “You must understand I find that difficult. I am nothing more than a vassal to the royal family.”

  
Silence falls between the men for a moment, and Frederick wonders if Chrom will react in a similar way. Will he further insist he needs to relax? He can hardly afford to slack off, especially when they need him in such a dire situation. It’s why he cannot show weakness in front of others, to let them know how terribly he’s hurting. To continue to close off his heart, to remain a stalwart man--it’s the life Frederick’s made for himself. It’s the one he has to live.

  
“Did you ever refer to Emm by her name?” Frederick freezes. The fire does nothing to thaw his form. “...I know you loved her.”

  
The world stops. 

  
“You made Emm so happy, Frederick.” Chrom’s voice wavers, albeit slightly. “I saw the way you two looked at another. Your smiles, how relaxed you’d both appear… no one else made her look like that.”

  
He tries to reply, and every word catches itself in his throat. 

  
“All those suitors were never right for her,” he gives a soft laugh that’s mixed with a sniff, “I remember the party. You two snuck off, and came back looking happier than ever. But I knew it had to be a secret, even if I thought it was stupid.”

  
The truth can be often kind, even if it’s painful to hear. To know that Chrom has supported them, from such a young age, does nothing but bring tears of Frederick’s eyes. It makes him feel more of a fool to have never spoken of their love in fear of rejection, that Chrom and Lissa would wish for another to claim Emmeryn’s heart. 

  
“If you had proposed to her, I would have been honored to call you my brother-in-law.” How these words do nothing more than to bring said tears rolling down his cheeks. “I would have done everything possible to make the people accept such a happy union.”

  
When the situation of a what-if is presented before you, it’s often easier to accept the present than the blissful happiness that’s no more than a fleeting thought. While it is comforting to hear Chrom has accepted their love, always, the idea of proposing to Emmeryn, to announcing their engagement, to only then lose her before they began a wedded life leaves a bitter aftertaste upon his tongue. 

  
“You are too kind to me,” he has to swallow a lump in his throat, “to offer your sentiments after I insulted your feelings towards Robin.”

  
“Did you truly think I would resent you? I’m unhappy you still don’t trust them, but I wouldn’t dare throw away our bond.” There’s a clatter of a tea cup on the table as it messily lands on the saucer. “You made Emm’s life wonderful, and you helped raise me and Lissa. I couldn’t ask for a better man to have married her.” 

  
When is the last time he’s cried? Frederick finds himself unable to recall, and just stares into the fire with blurred vision. “I am honored to hear such words. ...Thank you, Chrom.”

  
“We’re all going to miss her, but I know she’d want us to dry our tears and press on.” This sounds ridiculous, given they’re both teary messes at the moment. “We have to fight for the future that Emm wanted. One of peace.”

  
“It is the least we could do to honor her,” he whispers in agreement, “and I will do all I can to protect you and Lady Lissa.”

  
“You need to take care of yourself as well.” Chrom’s at his side now, kneeling by his chair. His face is wet with tear stains. “I can’t afford to lose someone else.”

  
Frederick’s hands remained folded in his lap, unable to twitch forward and bring Chrom into a hug. He tries to formulate a proper response, and is unable to speak without another fresh wave of tears running down his face. “I shall remain at your side.” 

  
The hug that Chrom ends up initiating is nearly suffocating in how hard it is, and Frederick squeezes him just as tight. His posture, usually perfect and upright, slackens as his shoulder is wept into. He knows that besides Lissa, this is the only family Chrom truly has left. While the Shepherds are near and dear to him, they’ll never quite share the same bond that they’ve forged.

  
“May I still have the honor of considering you a brother?” Chrom sounds a touch ridiculous with how much he’s crying, but Frederick must remember he’s nineteen. It’s much too young to lead an army into a war, nonetheless lose a sister. 

  
“It’s one you’ve always possessed,” Frederick slowly begins to rub his back, “and one you shall continue to keep.”

  
Chrom’s gentle sobs continue into the still of night, Frederick’s arms around him in a protective embrace. His tears are silent yet present, a sign the two can learn to heal together. For now, he must ensure survival to reach said goal, and to keep the future Exalt in higher spirits.

  
Tonight, he does not have to be a retainer with walls surrounding his emotions, heart under lock and key.

  
Tonight, Frederick can allow himself to feel, a privilege he has not had in some time. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, make sure to leave a comment/kudos! If you want to hear about future works and rambles, make sure to follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/that_nebbles)


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